


The Love and Scars of a Brother

by Sun_Spark



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Depression, Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7714528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sun_Spark/pseuds/Sun_Spark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It always bugged me that the show never addressed the brother's drifting apart, so this is my version of what might have happened. Basically Sam became depressed, Dean noticed, and Castiel interfered.</p><p>Set somewhere around the apacolypse.</p><p>Warnings for mentions of past self harm and depression.</p><p>No - This is NOT a Wincest fanfic, and if you insist on it being one then it is platonic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love and Scars of a Brother

The hotel room was moldy, the hunt was done, and the brothers were exhausted. Dusk had set in, casting a golden glow through the crack in the curtain covered windows of their small room. 

The vampires they had hunted had been more pesky than usual, being nearly three times the size of a typical nest, and had been accordingly been more difficult to take down. As a result the brothers were more beaten up than usual, though not to a point that they couldn't take care of it. A nearly shredded shoulder, a bruised jaw, a shallow stab wound, and other assorted minor injuries belonged to Dean, while Sam could claim bruised ribs, a twisted ankle, a split lip, and other assorted bruises and cuts. 

Sam was patching up his brother's shoulder when Dean's phone rang. Over the course of the next few minutes Sam stitched, cleaned, and bandaged the elder's wound and Dean listened to a rambling Garth. Finally done, Sam went to wash the blood of his hands while Dean finished his slightly one-sided conversation.

"Yeah, Garth, we dealt with it. What? No, no there aren't any more of them! Yeah, we're fine."

Sam grabbed two beers from their room's mini fridge and opened them while keeping an ear tuned to his brother's conversation. He checked to make sure he'd cleaned up everything from their first aid treatments before turning to cross the room, sitting on his bed across from Dean.

"Yeah. Ok. Bye."

Dean flipped his phone shut and tossed it on the bed with a groan, rubbing his eyes with the heel's of his hands. 

"Dang that kid can talk!"

Sam chuckled and held out a beer silently.

"I mean, I know he likes to keep tabs one us - and he says 'hi', by the way - but does he have to chew my ear off? And why, you tell me, does he always sound like a five year old on a sugar rus-"

Dean's sentence trailed off just as he made to take the beer from Sam. He sat there, frozen, his eyes glued on Sam's wrist. In the blink of an eye, before Sam could register what was happening, he grabbed the beer in his right hand and his brother's arm in his left with a gentle death grip. 

Just under the cuff of Sam's ever present plaid shirt sleeve was a silvery scar, so shadowed that Dean almost hadn't noticed it. He had nearly brushed it off, expecting it to be a remnant of a hunt, one of many they had acquired, but the sight of a second mark just barely peeking out from under Sam's sleeve was enough to make him reconsider.

"Dean, what-?"

Sam started to question him, unsure what was going on. His question stopped though, as he saw Dean place his beer on the ground and reached towards him. Dean undid the button on his cuff with dexterous fingers, making Sam try to pull away in a sudden mild panic. His attempt was unsuccessful as Dean's grip was too firm to be shaken off. Quickly and silently Dean pushed his brother's sleeve up to expose his arm.  
What he saw made his blood run cold. Above the first two lines were fifteen or more precise, nearly equidistant scars at varying stages of healing.  
Dean simply stared, shocked, Sam's arm twitching in his grip as if he didn't know whether or not to pull away. The silent tension was deadly and the few minutes that passed seemed like an eternity before it was broken by Dean, the elder's voice was strained but firm.

"Strip. Now. Down to your boxers."

Dropping the younger's wrist he stood and walked over to the small table where he stared out the window through the small space between the curtains, his back to his brother. Sam hesitated, Dean didn't have to see him to know that.

"Now Sam."

He sounded like he did when dealing with a hunt, harsh and firm. There was no getting out of this and Sam knew it. Slowly, he removed his his shoes and socks, then stood and undid his belt and slipped off his jeans. He took far longer than was necessary to fold the removed articles and lay them on the bed before starting on the buttons of his shirt. He stopped once he had them undone, holding the two halves of his shirt in a white-knuckle death grip, clutching the fabric to his chest like a life-line.

He looked up at his brother, he could see from the set of Dean's shoulders that the elder's arms were crossed, even with teh other's back turned towards him. He sighed quietly and shrugged out of his shirt, knowing the notoriously stubborn elder Winchester had made up his mind, Sam surrendered to the inevitable.

Having heard the sigh and the accompanying rustle of cloth as the last piece of clothing was laid on the bed, Dena set his jaw and turned around. His stance softened at the sight of his brother. This wasn't a hunt to be completed nor a monster to be killed, this was his little brother. A little brother who was obviously frightened and embarrassed judging from his crossed arms, hunched shoulders, and hanging head.

Dean sighed and stepped forward, holding his hands out to his brother, palms up. He called out to the younger, using the gentlest voice he could to reassure him, resulting in a call that was barely above a whisper.

"Come 'er, Sammy."

When Sam didn't move, but instead hunkered down even further into himself, Dean gently grasped his wrists and drew him forward.

"Come into the light where I can see you."

Sammy followed him numbly. His insides were twisting with panic, dread, and despair, his limbs felt heavy, like more of a burden than an actual part of his body, in fact his whole body felt heavy and numb. He stumbled once and ducked his head even further when the light light hit him. He tried to cross his arms again but Dean wasn't having it. The elder held his brother's arms at his sides, gently squeezing them as a clear indication that he was to keep them there, before letting go and stepping back.

Dean had seen Sam without his shirt before and he would admit, in a sibling capacity, that his brother was beautiful, particularly when illuminated by golden sunlight, but that beauty was currently distracted from by the markings covering the young brunet's body. Being his brother and having patched him up so many times after hunt, Dean was used to seeing tan skin marred by a few scars and the Anti-Possession tattoo, what he saw now made him realize just how long it had been since he'd patched up more than a few cuts on his brother's face, arms, and legs.

Sam's arms consisted of row after row of thin horizontal cuts, some were old milky white scars, some red lines of healing skin, and others were fresh and barely scabbed over. The outsides of his thighs were no better as they were marked with chains of scars, some were long and some were short, some sweeped around and others were stunted, all marring his skin like tiger stripes. Where his arms and thighs were neat columns of horrible lines, his stomach was just the opposite: Disorganized scars of all shapes and sizes criss-crossed his skin, some new and some old, some straight and some jagged, some shallow and some deep.

Dean was shocked and angry, he could physically feel the boiling rage, drowning sorrow, and freezing shock warring with each other in his chest. His first instinct was to punch, stab, or shott something: Nothing hurt his little brother. But he couldn't do any of that this time, because there was nothing attacking them, it was Sam himself who was hurting himself. The reage was quickly taking over, mingling with the sorrow in a deadly combination.  
He was seconds away from giving Sam a piece of his mind when something else caught his eye, he had been so focused on the scars marring Sam's skin that he hadn't noticed before: Sam was shaking violently, every muscle in his body was tense and his hands, still at his sides, were clenched into fists, his whole being was practically vibrating. When the ringing shock faded from his ears, Dean heard Sam's breathing, it was labored and quick.  
Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing the tenseness to fade from his muscles and making the anger drain from his body. He couldn't react violently to this, he knew that would only make things worse. Opening his eyes, he didn't say anything. Instead he walked past Sam to their bags where he retrieved a pair of the gigantor's sleep pants and their drinks. He carried their beers over to the small table, pushing the pants into Sam's arms as he went by, and collapsed into a chair. He took a long drink of his beer, the alcohol doing nothing to dampen his turmoil, and stared blindly at the table top, noting the gouges in the wood's surface. 

Sam stayed where he was and silence reigned as Dean tried to think of something to say. He knew he had to confront Sam, this couldn't be allowed to continue, but he didn't know how to do that without making things worse. Give him a monster and he was good, but emotional crap wasn't his arena. The half formed plan left his mind as he turned around. the sight of his normally strong brother, hunched over, arms crossed, head down, shaking, was enough to knock all those half formed thoughts from his head, along with his 'no-chick-flick-moments' policy.

Comforting his brother foremost in his mind, Dean stepped forward and gently grasped to outsides of Sam's arms, getting answers taking a backseat for the moment. Sam flinched as Dean touched him but he didn't move away as Dean began to rub his arms in a repetitive up and down motion.  
They stayed this way for quite some time, Dean doing what he could to silently comfort his brother, and Sam staring silently at the ground to Dean's side, taking slow, unsteady breaths. After an unspecified length of time, when Sam's breathing began to sound somewhat normal, Dean broke the silence with a soft, not-quite-whisper, that was still too loud in the too small room.

"Sammy, talk to me."

Sam let out a shuddering breath, not looking up and not moving. "And say what?"

Dean clamped down on his annoyance, reminding himself to be gentle. "I don't know Sam, how 'bout starting with why you did this?"

Sam didn't really answer, just mumbled something halfheartedly while ducking his head even further, if that was even possible. Dean wasn't having it. The elder grasped Sam's chin in his left hand an gently forced the younger yo raise his head and look him in the eye. When their eyes met Dean saw unshed tears.

"What was that, Sammy?"

A tremor ran through Sam's body, a single tear fell, and his voice cracked. "Why shouldn't I? Not like anyone cares when other monsters hurt themselves."

Dean wanted to slap him. He wanted to yell and shake him. He wanted to tell him how ridiculous he was being. But he couldn't. He was too stunned, not only by what he was hearing, but by the conviction he heard in Sam's tone. His little brother really believed what he was saying, and that made a sick cold feeling settle in his stomach.

"You're not a monster Sam!"

Another tear fell and Sam tried to jerk away, failing as Dean's grip was too firm.

"Yes I am!"

"No you are not!"

The yelling match was cut short as Sam, even on the verge of sobbing, gave Dean one of his trade mark 'you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me' looks and scoffs. "Oh really? What is it your precious angel calls me? 'Boy with the demon blood'? 'Abomination'? Those ring a bell?"  
More tears fell, and Dean began to feel the typical panic he always did whenever his brother was hurt or in danger. 

"He doesn't mean it Sammy, you know that. Cas doesn't know any better."

Teary eyes trained back on the floor, Sam scoffed again, though the sobs he was trying and failing to hold back made it sound more like a hiccup. "'S not like you ever bothered to teach him any better Dean. And you know why? 'Cause you know he right."

Dean had nothing to say to that, dread and sorrow and anger, this time at himself, raged through him. He didn't try to make excuses, didn't try to explain, he just pulled his brother forward, guiding the taller man's head to his shoulder with a hand on his hair and wrapping his free arm around him. He held on tightly while Sam quietly stifled sobs in his shoulders, mind reeling.

With Sam clutching at the front of his shirt, sobbing in a way he hadn't since they were children, Dean clenched his jaw, fighting back his own tears. He was angry, with himself more than anyone else. The full force of his anger and despair must have rung through his voice as he looked towards the ceiling and yelled, as the response was nearly immediate.

"Cas! Get your feather ass down here! NOW!"

The flutter of invisible wings was nearly instantaneous and the angel Castiel accompanied the sound, appearing by the table. At the sight of Dean's clenched jaw and obvious anger and Sam crying in his arms, Castiel tilted his head confused and concerned.

"Why did you call me Dean?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, his voice was kept carefully steady. "Cas, we're gonna clear something up right now, and by God, Lucifer, or whoever else you want, you are gonna tell me the truth. What exactly do you think of Sam?"

Castiel seemed thoroughly confused by the question, but he was honest to a fault. "I have no quarrel with your brother Dean. He is an excellent hunter and an intelligent man. I find Sam to be quite pleasent, even if he is, by nature, an abomination."

A wayward sob broke it's way out of Sam's throat, the younger having been as quiet as possible before now. Dean held Sam tighter, his eyes fixed on Cas in a withering glare.

"Cas, I like you man, you're my friend. Heck! at this point you're nearly family. But get something through your head: Sam is my brother. He is not a freak, he is not a screw-up, he is not a monster, and he is not a so called abomination for you to spit on. He is the most important thing in this world to me, and I will raise hell and tear down heaven with my bear hands before I let you, or anyone or anything else, hurt him. If you can't get that through your head, then leave, and don't come back."

Castiel narrowed his own eyes, confused, and took a step towards the brothers, reaching out with a his grace. Whether he knew he was doing it or not, Dean Winchester was shielding his brother both physically and mentally, creating a shield around the taller man that Castiel's grace had a difficult time penetrating. As soon as it did, a dawning look of understanding and horror graced the angel's face when his grace brushed against the youngest Winchester.

The angel had never before felt such overwhelming sadness for a human, but now it consumed him. Sorrow drowned him, making the invisible wings on his back feel like stone weights, sadness dripped from his words. "Oh Sam."

The angel stepped forward, slowly and carefully, wary of the elder Winchester who currently reminded him of a lioness protecting it's cub, watching, waiting, and ready to strike. Sam raised his head to look tearfully at the celestial being. Castiel moved quicker than either man could react to, pressing two finger to Sam's forehead, the outline of his wings flaring out behind him, before stepping back.

Sam jerked back his a gasp, dislodging his brothers hold. Dean's cry of 'What the Hell Cas?!' was lost as the room shook from the power Castiel had released. Sam stood, eyes closed, head thrown back, absorbing the angelic power that had been poured into him. Each and every self inflicted scar on Sam's body began to glow with golden-white light, burning brighter and brighter until neither the human nor angel watching could bare to look anymore. 

Sam, for his part, wasn't sure if he should be scared or not. He could feel the celestial's power rushing through his body and he didn't know what it was doing to him. It didn't hurt, but it was intense, like an ache or pain that you were aware of but didn't actually call painful. He couldn't be sure though, most of his concentration was on his mind, not his body. The angel's grace had invaded every nook and cranny of his mind, wrapping his very soul in warmth and light. It wasn't really Cas, he knew that, there wasn't a second conscious in his mind, rather, Castiel had broken off a piece of his grace and sent it into Sam's body and mind to complete a job. He felt every insecurity, fear, and belief that he was worthless being buried and sealed away in the far reaches of his mind. He felt them being replaced by warmth, love, comfort, reassurance, and a reminder of his worth.

Love wrapped around his mind like a blanket, and he realized that he recognized it: Dean, the majority of it was Dean's love. Castiel was also there, not so much love as comfort. His Mother and Father, he felt them too, the memories of their love that Castiel had found in their heavens filled him. Bobby, yes that was definitely Bobby Singer, the love of a grandfather and father mingling as one. Together they created a net of safety and warmth, comforting him and holding him safe from his own inner demons.

When it was over and the light faded Sam stumbled, at a loss for balance. Dean darted forward quickly to steady him. Dean stood next to Sam, holding the younger up while he caught his breath. Once assured that his baby brother was unharmed, the elder turned back to Castiel.

"Cas...what did you just do?"

The angel stepped towards them. "I have healed the wounds, fading them as far as I could."

Dean looked down at his brother and saw that every single scar, new and old, had healed and faded to the faintest of lines, each of the pale marks nearly invisible. 

"I could not remove the pain and poison that flooded his mind, but I did bury it under a reminder of the feelings belonging to all those who love him, it consists mostly of the feelings of yourself and Bobby Singer."

He looked pointedly at Sam.

"This will never happen again. It should never have happened in the first place."

Sam nodded weakly, completely worn out from the emotional toll Castiel's healing had taken on him. Castiel looked back at Dean. 

"I have done all I can, the rest is up to you Dean, but he should be safe now. I must return to heaven now."

Dean nodded, slightly dazed. "Thank Cas."

With a nod, the angel disappeared. Dean turned back to his brother.

"You ok, Sammy?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Yeah. Just...tired."

Dean nodded and gently guided his brother to his bed, laying him down and covering him with a blanket. The younger's eyes were already drifting closed, but Dean had one more thing to say before he let his brother sleep.

"Sammy. Hey."

Sam pried his eyes open and gazed up at his older brother.

"You gonna be ok?"

Sam hesitated, genuinely considering the question, before nodding.

"Okay. You let me know if this starts again, you hear me?"

Sam nodded again.

"Okay."

Dean wouldn't lie, he was out of his comfort zone, but his brother was more important than his own comfort. He reached out an gently ruffled his brother's hair before turning the light's out and settling into his own bed. He considered for a moment before whispering into the night.

"I love you little brother."

He'd thought his brother was asleep, but he heard the answering reply just as he drifted off.

"I love you too, Dean."

Fin.


End file.
